Where the Reeds Grow Thick

Chapter Five

For as quickly as they arrived, the footsoldiers soon moved on; silence was as worrying in their wake. Between Itsui and caring for Takuma, Shige kept herself from despair.

"The battle seems to have subsided," she said to her mother. "Hopefully, Shōtarō comes back with news soon."

Her mother shook her head noncommittally. "Eh, the men are probably hiding in the storage cellar. A bunch of teen boys and farmers wouldn't know how to fight."

"They should have just sent you," Shige joked.

Takuma sat up in his corner, rubbing at his neck. "Samurai would only let those with battle experience fight. Your teen boys are fine."

'He's always so smug,' Shige thought. "Do you have battle experience, servant?"

"A samurai travels with at least one servant to each battle," he answered bluntly. "I've never had to use my sword, but I'm trained to defend."

Shige could never imagine a skinny little reed like him even standing in a battle. It made her wonder what kind of samurai he worked under to allow it. His body always posed for defense, he was like a deer trapped in a potter's shed; perhaps he'd seen some deeds his mind wished to forget.

As her mother left to gather dinner, Shige returned to sewing patches on whatever she found torn. Small tasks like this were so often forgotten, in the busy pace of work life.

When she was little, Shige would sew patches on every little snag in her father's kosode until it was a busy mess of green, blue, and brown, mountain peaks and fans overlapping on the solid colors. What she would give to hear him ask for a patch today.

Looking over to Takuma, she thought of how bored he must be; he sat all day, his knees drawn up to his chin, glaring at nothing. Moving to sit next to him, Shige tapped on his shoulder.

"Would you like to help me sew?" she asked.

His frown deepened. "I'm blind," he snapped, edging on raising his voice.

"And I'm not stupid," Shige snapped back. "You have hands; help me or don't."

She took a moment to calm down; others in the camp were staring at them both, judging and whispering. Shige understood Takuma's anger, but anger had no place here.

The camp, made up of 200 women, 45 men, and 100 children, was busy trying to stay alive; high emotions were not productive, especially at this time.

At last, Takuma relaxed his legs, holding his feet like a child. "What do you want me to do?" he muttered.

Softly, Shige placed a torn apron in his lap. "Hold it taut while I patch it."

Takuma did as he was told, holding the apron steady as Shige sewed a patch onto the torn fabric. She worked carefully, her fingers gliding over the fabric as she made precise stitches.

As they worked together, the sound of laughter and chatter drifted over from the other side of the camp. Shige glanced up, watching as a group of women huddled together, giggling to themselves. She wondered what they were talking about, what could bring them such happiness in the midst of all this chaos. Their glances toward Shige and Takuma told her enough.

Folding the fabric away, Shige wrinkled her nose at her still-staring neighbors. "Thank you, Takuma," she said pointedly. "That was a great help."

Takuma blushed when he understood. With a short bow, he scooted back to his corner. "Your sister's name is Sachi, right?" he said.

Shige nodded, but quickly remembered to speak. "No. Why?"

"Good name. My mother's name was Sachi, too, but I don't know the kanji. None of us could write."